


One Confession

by glim



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>But, oh, how she's missed this, the way they fall into each other, stripped of clothing and pretense, and stripped down to the nakedness of desire.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	One Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Great Merlin Wet Fest](http://hermette.livejournal.com/102163.html)

"This is what you wanted. This is what you've always wanted, to be stretched out on this bed, open, naked, unashamed. _Desired._ Breathless in the queen's bed."

Morgana's hand slips down from Gwen's breasts to between her legs, light against the warmth of Gwen's skin. She strokes the inside of Gwen's thighs with a touch so gentle, so heartbreakingly gentle that Gwen nearly lets a sigh, then a sob, catch at the back of her throat.

She's missed this. She's missed everything about Morgana, from the scent of her hair to the sharpness of her mind to the sound of her voice, muzzy with sleep, saying Gwen's name.

But, oh, how she's missed _this_, the way they fall into each other, stripped of clothing and pretense, and stripped down to the nakedness of desire.

Strands of dark hair cling to Morgana's neck and breasts and her skin shines with sweat in the pale moonlight. Outside, the night is still and quiet, the heat of day just settling with the dew over the leaves and grass. Inside, the night is even warmer, and Gwen can feel the dampness in the air as well as all over her body.

Magic licks at the edges of Gwen's senses. A thousand warm, damp, flickers against her skin, tickling behind her ears and between her toes. Morgana leans in closer to press her lips to Gwen's breasts; she tongues wetly against her nipples, kissing and licking until Gwen shudders.

Gwen knows what Morgana tastes like – her mouth's already been all over Morgana, has already licked the sweat from her skin and the wetness from between her thighs – but it sends another shudder through Gwen to think that now Morgana tastes like _her_.

A curl of magic, the finest, warmest tendril, winds down Gwen's arm, tingles along her fingers, and unwinds and rewinds itself down her leg to her ankle. Her legs fall open and Morgana sighs, settles in closer, breathes over Gwen's stomach and inhales the scent of her arousal. As if the room doesn't already smell like the musk of sweat and sex, as if they haven't already had hands, lips, and tongues all over each other. As if they both weren't already wet, half-used up, half-raw, sore and still wanting.

They will say that she and Morgana are enemies, that there could be no reconciliation between them. They – the men who write history into legend – will say these things, but they will never know how there was no enmity between them, but love of the most unrefined, most delicate kind. The knowledge of body and breath, the shape of her lady's body beneath the palm of Gwen's hand, the shivering need that Morgana drew from her breath by breath and strange, soft way she kept that need close to her own heart.

Gwen feels her body arc up off the mattress, tight as a bow-string, and her pleasure comes in an arc, too, a swell of warmth that gathers at the base, then curves up the length of her spine. Morgana slips two fingers inside Gwen to find that spot that makes her gasp helplessly, and leans in again to kiss the corner of Gwen's hip when Gwen does gasp, even allows herself one sob as she surges, warm and wet, over Morgana's hand.

"It's what you've always wanted," Morgana says against Gwen's skin.

"Yes," Gwen admits, voice low and soft, and the moment breaks between them. "But I never wished for me to be the one crowned queen."


End file.
